Two Scores
by Hannah Lynn McDonald
Summary: A sentence of forty years had been served by all, and the eleventh hour was now upon them. Now that the time was served, the executions began.


Forty years.

Four decades of loneliness, sorrow, regret, fear, suffering—two scores that could never be undone. The years had dragged by, but now he wished that they had lasted longer—that all of the time in the world would cease and that the clocks would never toll twelve. Was that too much to ask? Surely he had suffered enough...

And yet, the scores remained. Not only the scores of years, but the scores of actions and of revenge were still quite tangible. It felt as if they followed him—as if when he took his place in the carriage or in the automobile they would take their place beside him; taunting him with the past.

Past? That implied that it was done—over with! But that was not true. The past was never gone as long as there were those to remember it—either with joy or with dread—and heaven knows they still remembered it.

Victoria would scold him—reminding him of the sacred commandment to not take the Lord's name in vain—but at the same time it was fitting. Who else know what had taken place that night? It said that he that seeth in secret shall reward openly, and that things done in secret shall be shouted from the rooftops—it wasn't too far to assume that the same was true for consequences.

They said he was drunk—that he had no right speaking—but he was tired of the lies. So tired, and so scared. He had thought that if he had put as much space betwixt himself and his family as he could that the fear would subside, and he had fled to Africa with that goal in mind as his brother had already procured his ticket for America—but he quickly found that his hope was in vain. Often, he wondered if the distance only made it worse—if the unfamiliarity of the continent strengthened his memories of home and made it easier to imagine truth of his terrors.

Forty years—the number would not leave him be. The child was only fourteen, the victim not far younger, and himself not far older. The family had stood together, and the elders had spoken—and he had stood silently by, unable to speak for or against. To speak for would be to share the fate of the younger, but to speak against would be to share the fate of the elder—for he held no illusions that there would be consequences for their actions. In the end, he spoke against by his silence and was sentenced with the elders.

He could have done better. Perhaps he could have come back and freed Roderick—perhaps another voice speaking for the child would have swayed the judgement. Perhaps he could have gone his own way and informed the authorities—but the ties of family and the strong familial honour and fidelity long ingrained into him never allowed those options to be truly considered until long after the fact; and by then he knew it was too late.

By then, the regret had marked him. He was broken by the past and burdened by the fear of knowledge and destiny, and yet his thoughts always knew there was one worse off than him. His thoughts would always turn to the child locked away in the empty house—a child undoubtedly long gone mad with the isolation.

The lies weighed down on him, but he still couldn't bring himself to throw it all aside and come clean—the habits were too ingrained for that freedom. Instead, he listened—remembering; drinking and refilling his glass when it ran empty. He knew it was too much, but he couldn't bring himself to stop—couldn't bring himself to face the coming night with a steady and sober mind. If he was fortunate, perhaps the alcohol would poison him—but he felt it would be more likely that the fear would sober him, even as it did now.

They argued to send the strangers away, to leave Roderick locked away—after all, he was twisted when this had begun; in what state of mind would he be now and what could he accomplish? - but he stepped forward. The same honour that had pressed him to silence all of those years ago now pressed him to speak. The sentence had been served, and now it was their turn—there would be no escape.

He was not a courageous man—that role was better left to Lionel. He was the silent one—the one that had remained with Mother when the others went out—but this time he was not. The least he could do was face the consequences with honour, if not without trembling.

It had been a family affair, and the family had meted out justice. Now, it was time for justice to fall on the family—and the family would mete it out.

* * *

 _AN: Because he's a sad, dark, broken creature—of course I would sympathise and empathise and adopt him... *sighs* Inspired by Cushing's character Sebastian Grisbane in the film_ _House of Long Shadows_ _. Because he seemed to be the only one to regret it—to want to release Roderick. Thank you for taking the time to read this! Gramercy, and God bless._ _6-1-2015_


End file.
